


One of the Boys

by CourtingInsanity



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 129 ways to get a husband, Choking, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Smut, Strictly Dramione's Valentine's Day Smut Fest, Valentine's Day, Workplace Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-26 21:11:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17753543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CourtingInsanity/pseuds/CourtingInsanity
Summary: An outdated magazine article, unresolved sexual tension between two co-workers, and it's the day before Valentine's Day... Enjoy!





	One of the Boys

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my beta, BiscuitsForPotter xx
> 
> In response to prompt #20: Don't take a job in a company run largely by women.

The floor was covered in broken glass and pieces of ornate wooden cabinets. Trinkets of varying worth lay as if in shame, bunched up in crude piles in a pathway leading to the front door. Wards now shimmied around the once-proud jewellery store in the middle of Diagon Alley, preventing a crowd of nosey onlookers from witnessing the breakdown of the elderly owner.

 

“I—I don’t know, Auror Granger,” the old witch stammered, wiping her eyes with a drenched handkerchief. “The shop has been in my family for generations; I’ve never known of any bad blood.”

 

Hermione scribbled on her notepad and then glanced wearily up at her partner. Neatly parted blond hair peeked over the top of a worn magazine, his long, elegant fingers moving slowly to turn a page.

 

Hermione cleared her throat but the blond didn’t react. “Malfoy!” she hissed.

 

“Hmm?” He lowered the magazine and met her gaze. His grey eyes were questioning and impatient, as if he could not fathom why Hermione would dare to interrupt his reading.

 

“Do you have any questions for Mrs Ashworth?” She raised her eyebrows in a pointed expression and nodded towards the still-sniffling old lady.

 

Malfoy frowned, letting the magazine fall to his side; Hermione noted he left his index finger hooked into the page he had been perusing. Hermione’s spine prickled uncomfortably and she clenched her teeth—typical of Malfoy to leave the work to her while he entertained himself.

 

She inhaled deeply, her gaze lifting to the ceiling as her hands settled on her hips. Counting to five, Hermione exhaled through her mouth before she spoke again. “Thank you, Mrs Ashworth.” She turned back to the owner with a forced smile pasted on her face. “We’re going to collect some evidence now. Is there someone I can call to come and get you?”

 

Mrs Ashworth shook her head, her red-rimmed eyes wide with sadness. “No,” she croaked. “My son and daughter both live in France. I can take the bus home, though.” Scrunching her handkerchief in one hand, she bent to collect her bag from the floor.

 

Hermione moved to grab the bag for the older witch, but she wasn’t quite fast enough. “The Knight Bus?” she queried when they had both straightened.

 

“Yes.” Mrs Ashworth nodded and shifted her bag to her shoulder. “I can’t Apparate on my own any more, but I can stretch my arm straight enough.” She mimicked the action half-heartedly, a wobbly smile dancing on her face.

 

Hermione’s heart clenched; the poor woman was alone and her business had just been burgled and vandalised. She shouldn’t have to take the Knight Bus of all modes of transportation to get home.

 

Hermione turned back to Malfoy who was once again immersed in the tattered pages of… _Witch Weekly?_ Hermione grimaced but sidled up to him before delivering a well-aimed elbow into his ribcage.

 

“Ow!” he protested, dropping the magazine and clutching his side. “What was that for?”

 

“Malfoy,” Hermione said sweetly. “I need you to Apparate Mrs Ashworth home, please.”

  
“Why can’t you do it?” Malfoy bent to collect the magazine, dusting the front of it off with the back of his hand.

 

Hermione wondered if she might need to see a Healer soon, with the way her blood pressure had a tendency to soar whenever she was partnered with Malfoy. Fighting the urge to elbow him again, she explained calmly, “I’m going to begin collecting evidence. If you find that you’re able to extract your nose from what I’m sure is a riveting article, perhaps you could help me when you return.”

 

Malfoy stepped forward, his expression hard, but whatever retort he was set to throw at her was halted by Mrs Ashworth.

 

“Oh, that would be lovely, dear, thank you!” She trotted around the counter, and looked expectantly up at Malfoy.

 

Hermione was pleased to note that his face was pinched as he offered the old witch his arm. Malfoy threw a dirty look over his shoulder at Hermione before he turned on his heel, leading Mrs Ashworth away.

 

With a _crack!_ they were gone, and Hermione’s shoulders sank with relief. It wasn’t that Malfoy was an incompetent Auror. On the contrary, he was actually one of the Ministry’s best. No, what annoyed Hermione was that he didn’t seem to _care_ that he was one of the best, which flew directly in the face of everything she had ever known about the bigoted prat.

 

They had joined the Auror department at the same time, alongside Harry and Ron. Malfoy had apologised, albeit stiffly, to all three of them, and they had called an amicable truce. Harry even smiled around the blond now… but Hermione still wasn’t convinced she _liked_ the arrogant wizard. Some days she thought that he might actually be an attractive young man with whom she  could hold a decent conversation; other days, she liked to imagine twenty different ways she could murder him and make it look like an accident.

 

So far, today was one of the latter.

 

Hermione moved over to the counter where a lot of the mess was concentrated, and bent down to see if the perpetrator had left fingerprints. She twirled her wand in a complicated pattern, and a print appeared in front of her as a popping sound indicated Malfoy’s return. She fought the urge to look up at him as his footfalls thudded closer.

 

“Find something?” he asked, crouching beside her.

 

“A fingerprint,” she said. “I’m just copying it now.”

 

“Good,” he said, and then rose to his feet again.

 

The rustling sound of the magazine opening set Hermione’s blood to boiling. She finished her task and then stood abruptly, her knees cracking with the sudden movement.

 

“Malfoy,” she snapped. “Are you going to help me at all?”

 

“It’s a robbery, Granger,” he drawled lazily and flourished the pages. “It’ll be an open and shut case before the day is out. My bet is on the competition opposite.” He nodded towards the front of the shop and Hermione followed his gaze.

 

On the other side of the street was a newer, yet smaller jewellery shop which was advertising a sale for half price watches.

 

Hermione scoffed, her frustration burning in her veins. “Well it won’t be solved unless we actually work on it,” she said. “So would you put that damn magazine down and at least start cataloguing what’s been taken?”

 

“No,” he answered lazily. “You should read this article though, Granger; Mrs Ashworth recommended it to me when I took her home. She said you might like it.”

 

Hermione seethed. It was one thing to refuse to help on a case, but entirely another to make fun of her while she was doing it. She exhaled forcefully through her nose and turned away from him, intent on cataloguing the missing items herself.

 

“Seriously, Granger,” Malfoy’s voice followed her. “It’s enlightening.”

 

“That magazine has to be a hundred years old!” Hermione spat as she reached the other side of the counter. “What could be so enlightening?”

 

There was a sound of the pages being rustled and then silence. Hermione kept her head down as she used her wand to calculate the stolen jewellery. After a few seconds, Malfoy made a sound of annoyance before thrusting the pages beneath her nose.

 

Hermione jolted backwards, her eyebrows raising towards her hairline as she tried to make out the title of the article.

 

“One-hundred-and-twenty-nine ways to—oh, very funny.” She sneered, turning her gaze to a smug-looking Malfoy.

 

“To get a husband, yes. Useful for you, I’d say?”

 

“I’m twenty-three.” Hermione sniffed, slightly offended but also confused; it wasn’t like Malfoy to make personal attacks—not anymore, at least. “What would I want with a _husband_?”

 

“Well, they’re good for some things.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her and Hermione flushed red.

 

“That is highly inappropriate!” she chastised. “Where did you even get that?” She indicated the magazine as if it were a filthy cockroach.

 

“The floor.” Malfoy waved his hand towards the corner of the shop. “Seems our Mrs Ashworth is ready to move on from the death of her husband nineteen years ago.”

 

“Ha ha,” Hermione deadpanned. She snatched at the magazine and flipped it over so that the cover was now facing up. “Nineteen-Fifty-Eight?” She grimaced. “Merlin, no wonder these tips are so misogynistic.”

 

“Misogynistic?” Malfoy gasped theatrically. “Whatever do you mean, Granger?”

 

“I _mean_ —” Hermione rolled her eyes, unsure as to why she was indulging the blond prat by having this conversation “—that these suggestions are outdated and rely on the assumption that women are subservient, and therefore less worthy than men.”

 

Malfoy smirked. “Oh?”

 

Hermione huffed. They were meant to be working the case, and Malfoy seemed only interested in distracting her with this pile of thestral dung. “Yes,” she supplied with a haughty lift of her nose. “Now, back to the case—”

 

“Uh-uh, Granger. Not so fast.” Malfoy tapped the article with his index finger. “Explain your thought process to me.”

 

“Did you fall down this morning?” she snapped, placing her hands on her hips. “You’ve been completely unhelpful and now _this_?” She smacked a hand down on to the magazine.

 

“Yes,” he said simply. “I want your thoughts on number twenty.”

 

Hermione closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. “If I answer you, will you promise to let us get back to the case—and _actually_ help me?”

 

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Deal,” he said.

 

“Fine.” Hermione glanced down at the list, noting the faded number twenty about a third of the way down the first page.

 

_#20: Don’t take a job in a company run largely by women._

 

Hermione read it three times, willing the heat to dissipate from her cheeks. Of all the nerve…

 

“Mrs Ashworth pointed it out to me,” Malfoy gloated. “She asked if we were together and I told her _Merlin no_ , but then she tutted and lamented that a witch such as yourself might still be single.”

 

Hermione gritted her teeth, her hands balling into fists at her side as he spoke. Caught somewhere between anger and humiliation, she was unsure whether she wanted to punch Malfoy or run away.

 

“Then she explained that she thought perhaps it was because you were breaking rule number twenty.”

 

“They’re not _rules_ !” Hermione spat, lifting her gaze to meet Malfoy’s triumphant smirk. “They’re stupid, outdated, _terrible_ suggestions made by a woman who probably lived her life as a spinster or somebody’s mistress!”

 

“My, my,” Malfoy crowed. “Not a very feminist attitude there, Granger.”

 

Hermione scoffed and turned away from him, intent on finishing up as soon as possible so she could return to her office and put at least fifty feet of distance between her and the bane of her existence.

 

“You have to admit that part of the reason you’re still single is because you’re seen as one of the boys.”

 

“One of the boys?” Hermione turned, her rage simmering just below boiling point. “What does that even mean?”

 

“It means that working in a male-dominant department makes you a little… intimidating to men.”

 

_Was he fucking serious?_

 

“They may be _intimidated,_ ” she replied through clenched teeth. “But as I see it, that’s their problem, not mine.” She lifted her chin, levelling him with a hard gaze.

 

He might think it was funny to rile her up while they were meant to be working, but she was determined to show him that no matter how angry she might be right now, she would be professional, and finish the job she had been sent to do. With one final purse of her lips, Hermione turned away and began to move along the bench, waving her wand to complete the list of stolen items.

 

“That’s it?” Malfoy’s followed behind her, his tone incredulous. “The great Hermione Granger rendered speechless by a misogynistic article and the cold hard fact that she’s not sexually appealing as _one of the boys_?”

 

Hermione froze; he was going too far. A small, logical voice in the back of her brain said she should just leave, return to the Ministry, and alert Kingsley to Malfoy’s terrible attitude. Unfortunately, that voice was drowned out by a louder one which was shouting at her to prove him wrong.

 

She turned on her heel, a crooked smile twisting at her lips. “Oh?” she purred. “An intimidating man-hater, am I?” Hermione came to a stop just in front of the stunned blond, arching her eyebrow.

 

She placed her hands on his chest, stepping her fingers up towards his neck, over his chin, until the index finger of her right hand was moving lightly across his lips.

 

“G-Granger?”

 

She chuckled, a throaty sound that sounded entirely foreign to her own ears. “Oh, Malfoy.” She stuck out her lower lip in an exaggerated pout. “What’s the matter? A strong, independent witch got your tongue?”

 

“I didn’t—”

 

“What? Mean it like that? You’ve been acting very odd today.” She began to walk around him in a slow circle, her hand trailing alongside her, touching his chest, his arm, his back… “Now I think I understand why.” She came to a stop in front of him again, her hands once again by her side as she reached up on tiptoe to whisper in his ear. “It’s Valentine’s Day, and you’re worried about not having a date.”

 

For a second, time seemed to slow down and Hermione relished in Malfoy’s expression; he looked both horrified and proud, if such a combination could exist. Before she could analyse it, however, he moved and suddenly she was pressed against the wall.

 

“Valentine’s Day is a commercialised load of hippogriff dung, and you know it, Granger.” His hands were splayed either side of her head and his nose grazed hers softly.

 

Hermione’s eyes grew wide and her breathing was uneven; this was not something she had expected. What happened to the loud voice ordering her to take no prisoners and show Malfoy just how _intimidating_ she could be?

 

She was pulled from her desperate thoughts by Malfoy’s lips brushing against her own. “What’s the matter?” he whispered against them. “A _misogynistic_ wizard got your tongue?”

 

“Is that what this is about?” she breathed, angling her face carefully so she could meet his gaze without pressing her lips to his. “Because I insinuated that you’re misogynistic?”

 

“No,” he answered, his gaze dropping from her eyes to her mouth. “It’s because I’ve been wanting to do this for a bloody long time and I’ve finally worked up the nerve.”

 

With that, he slanted his lips over hers. His kiss was hot and insistent, and while Hermione was taken by surprise, his boldness was less of a shock than the realisation that she didn’t want to push him away.

 

His hands were in her hair and his tongue flicked over the seam of her lips, a needy request for entrance which she granted before sliding her arms up his chest, nails blazing a trail to the back of his neck where her fingers tangled in the fine hair there.

 

He moaned softly into her mouth, his tongue becoming more insistent in its movements against her own. Malfoy tugged on the strands of hair he had wrapped around his hands, angling her head so that he could access it better.

 

Hermione’s mind alternated between speeding along a million miles a minute, and emptying completely as he continued to tease her expertly with his tongue. _This is crazy,_ she thought in a moment of clarity. _But it feels so_ good.

 

Before she could process what he was doing, Malfoy had turned them on the spot and Apparated them away. Hermione pulled back with a gasp and was granted only two seconds to realise that they had landed in her office and Malfoy had warded it before he tugged her towards him again.

 

He walked Hermione backwards until her back hit the edge of her desk. Dropping one hand from where he had been cradling her neck, Draco reached behind her and swept several neatly-stacked case files onto the floor.

 

“Malfoy—!” she protested against his lips.

 

“I’ll fix it.” He panted, breaking the kiss and planting several hot, open mouth kisses down her jaw. “Promise.”

 

Hermione moaned and forgot all about the mess on the floor as his teeth sank into the flesh just beneath her earlobe. She leaned her head to the side to allow him better access. “Merlin,” she whispered through clenched teeth.

 

“No,” Malfoy answered, a smirk evident in his lilt. “I just look like him.”

 

Hermione couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her, but it soon turned into a long, low moan as Malfoy trailed his fingers across the front of her thin work blouse and plucked at a nipple through the fabric. His mouth returned to its ministrations at the junction of her neck and shoulder; Hermione gripped his shoulders and silently prayed that he would never stop.

 

All too soon, he did, but before Hermione could complain he was tearing at the buttons of her shirt and tossing the garment to the floor. His fingertips ghosted across the sensitive flesh of her belly and Hermione shivered involuntarily. Her head lolled back and she once again threaded her fingers through his hair as his lips followed the path of his hands.

 

Before she could register much more, he had deftly unbuckled her belt and released the button and zipper on her trousers. She had to remind herself to breathe as he pushed her pants to the floor, wasting no time in tucking her knickers to the side and running his forefinger experimentally up and down her slit.

 

“Fuck!” she hissed.

 

He chuckled as she gripped the edge of the table, sinking onto his knees. He repeated the motion with his finger up and down, up and down, and Hermione watched as he tilted his head up to smirk at her.

 

Without warning, he slid his digit into her, crooking it so that he was pressing gently against her sweet spot. Hermione cried out, an incoherent sound of pleasure...and then his tongue was on her, swirling around her hooded bundle of nerves, licking and teasing and coaxing it out of hiding.

 

Hermione spasmed, tightening her hold on the table in an attempt to keep herself upright. Shocks of pleasure coursed through her veins and she only just managed to bite down on the moans that threatened to escape her throat.

 

She rode the wave as Malfoy continued to work his tongue over the tight bud, bucking her hips as he added a second finger. As his ministrations became more insistent and her orgasm threatened, Hermione could no longer hold back her cries. As the first slipped past her lips, Malfoy growled and began to pump harder.

 

White spots flashed behind her closed eyelids as her legs began to shake. “Malfoy, I’m—”

 

And then nothing.

 

Malfoy retreated, his fingers leaving her and his tongue sliding back into his grinning mouth. Frustration as she had never experienced it bubbled in her belly and Hermione fought the urge to stamp her foot—or worse, beg.

 

He stood slowly, maintaining eye contact as he did so. For a moment he just looked at her, as if committing her face to memory; surely, this would be something he could look back on in a week and laugh at—the face of Hermione Granger after being denied an orgasm. If she had been in the right frame of mind, Hermione would have left then and there. Or perhaps punched him. But she wasn’t in the right state of mind; the article was one thing, but _this?_ No, she would not stand for losing to Draco Malfoy, even if she didn’t entirely understand the game.

 

He unbuttoned his shirt, still holding her gaze as he let it fall down his well-defined arms. It pooled behind him and Hermione couldn’t help but let her eyes roam down his chest, over his abs, to where his fingers were now removing his belt. It was mesmerising, watching his hands as they slid the black piece of leather from the loops of his trousers.

 

When his pants had joined his shirt on the floor, Malfoy took a step towards her again. His boxers remained slung low on his hips, but the outline of his desire was prominent as he gripped her waist.

 

Hermione looked up, sure he was going to kiss her again but then he turned her so that she was facing the desk. She stumbled slightly, not prepared for the harshness of his touch as he moved her.

 

“What—?”

 

“Shh,” he whispered, his breath ghosting the shell of her ear as he pressed against her back. “Trust me.”

 

If someone had told her five years ago that Draco Malfoy would ask her to trust him, and that she _would_ , she’d have laughed and then referred them to the Janus Thickey Ward at St Mungo’s. But now it seemed… right.

 

“Okay,” she breathed.

 

His left hand wrapped around her throat, pulling her back against him so that his erection settled against her arse. His right slid down her side, sending shivers up her spine at the tickling sensation before his fingers began to tug at the hem of her knickers, pulling them down over her arse, past her thighs, until they fell to her ankles.

 

She stepped out of them and kicked the lacy material to the side as Malfoy’s mouth returned to her neck. “Spread your legs,” he growled.

 

Hermione did as she was told, widening her stance until Malfoy purred words of praise in her ear. His fingers were at her entrance again and she pushed back instinctively, biting down into her lower lip to stop herself from begging Malfoy to take her right then and there.

 

A high pitched whine escaped her throat and Hermione flushed as Malfoy chuckled as he rid himself of his boxers. “Easy, love,” he whispered into her neck. “There’s something incredibly satisfying in prolonging pleasure… when it comes, that is.”

 

Hermione huffed in impatience; did he not realise that they were in the middle of the Ministry, in the middle of the day? There wasn’t time for all this foreplay. She was about to open her mouth to state this, but before she could, Malfoy sheathed himself inside her with a sharp inhale of his breath.

 

Hermione moaned out loud and Malfoy’s grip tightened around her throat until she saw stars. She had never wanted to try choking with any of her other sexual partners, but this loss of control was doing things to her she could never have imagined.

 

He began to thrust into her, setting a relentless rhythm. His right hand bit into her hip and Hermione moaned as she arched her back. Shocks of pleasure coursed through her veins, snaking outwards from the apex of her thighs. Her head rested against Malfoy’s chest, her breath still coming in short bursts as he held her by the throat.

 

“Malfoy!” she panted as her the pleasure built, swirling through her body until she was unsure how much longer she would be able to last before she pleaded with him to take her over the edge.

 

A guttural growl was her only response as Malfoy’s right hand moved from her hip, dancing across her abdomen until it settled between her thighs. His fingers found her clit and began to work it in circles until Hermione was feeling hot and cold at the same time, her whole body alight with the delicious sensation of everything Malfoy.

 

“Oh, fuck!” she cried as her orgasm crashed over her.

 

She spasmed around him, her legs shaking as stars burst behind her eyelids. The hold on her throat lessened as Malfoy continued to pump into her from behind. His moans sent bolts of electricity towards her still-sensitive centre, and Hermione was thankful for his strong hold, as she was sure she wouldn’t be able to stand should he let go.

 

Her body sagged against his, which Malfoy noted as he pulled out of her suddenly. He spun her around again, settling her in a seated position on the edge of her desk. He spread her legs roughly and then drove into her with such practiced finesse, Hermione couldn’t help but be impressed.

 

His hands found her hips again, his teeth sinking into the juncture of her throat and shoulder as he moved inside her. Hermione threaded her hands into his hair and tugged gently, revelling in his moans as he approached his release.

 

His hips snapped against hers in a frenzied rhythm and Hermione’s head fell backwards as another wave of pleasure threatened. Her breath left her in short, sharp pants, and she opened her mouth to tell Malfoy she was close—oh so close—but he nipped her earlobe and then whispered, “Come for me, Granger.”

 

And she was gone, soaring and then falling as she clung to him, mewling into his hair. Malfoy groaned a long, low before he stilled, his own orgasm crashing over him.

 

As they came down, reality began to seep unwelcome into Hermione’s thoughts.

 

 _What the fuck have I done?_ She lamented, her eyes still squeezed shut as she let her hands fall from Malfoy’s hair. _Fucking Malfoy, of all people, at_ work, _of all places, because…_

 

Why had she allowed herself to get so carried away?

 

“Granger.” Malfoy’s voice pulled her from her spiralling thoughts. She met his gaze slowly, expecting to see triumph in his eyes, but his expression was guarded. “You okay?”

 

Hermione realised he was still inside her. She was unsure how to react; she felt close to tears. She nodded slowly, hoping that he wouldn’t notice the way her heart was pounding even faster now they had _finished_ having sex.

 

He slid out of her with a soft hiss and then used his wand to clean up their mess. He waved it again and their clothes floated, uncreased, towards them. They dressed in silence, Hermione chastising herself the entire time in a long stream of stern words which only caused the feeling of dread to grow within her belly.

 

She cleared her throat as she slipped her shoes on and stood straight, glancing towards Malfoy. “Well,” she said in what she hoped was a casual tone, “this was fun. Thanks, Malfoy.”

 

She began to stride towards the door of her office with the intent of opening it and seeing Malfoy out, but before she could take another step he caught her by the wrist.

 

“Wait, please.” It was the _please_ that stopped Hermione in her tracks and forced her to turn back to him. “Are you sure you’re okay? I don’t want you to leave here misunderstanding what happened.”

 

Hermione’s heart sank. Okay, she had never thought of the blond idiot as a possible romantic suitor, but she had come to begrudgingly respect him and she had hoped that the feeling was mutual.

  
She tugged her hand free from where he was still holding it. “Of course I do,” she said stiffly. “Don’t worry, I’m in no hurry to broadcast the details of our little tryst.”

 

“Little tryst?” Malfoy recoiled. “Is that what you think this was?” He waved his hand towards the desk and Hermione fought the urge to smack him.

 

“What else would it have been?” She sneered, startled by the recognition of feeling _hurt_ as it gripped her heart painfully.

 

Malfoy sighed, running a hand through his already-mussed locks. “Look, Granger, I won’t lie to you; I didn’t plan for it to happen. But that doesn’t mean I regret it.”

 

Hermione scoffed and folded her arms across her chest. “Well, what a relief,” she said sarcastically. “Can I go now?”

 

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed. “You can,” he answered, “but before you do, I want you to know that I hope that it wasn’t the only time we… you know…” he trailed off and Hermione realised with a sick pang of satisfaction that he was feeling awkward.

 

“Well, I won’t deny it was enjoyable,” Hermione said with a snide tone, “but you’ll have to forgive me for not wanting to be one of your playthings.”

 

“Playthings?” Malfoy screwed up his face. “Granger, I don’t know what you’re insinuating but what I mean is that I want us to see _more_ of each other… and not just in the bedroom.”

 

Hermione’s mind whirred and she felt the heated flush drain from her face. “Wait—” she choked. Did he mean…?

 

Malfoy chuckled, a smirk replacing the frown which had settled over his aristocratic brow as he took a tentative step towards her. Hermione cocked her head in question. “I like you,” he whispered as he came to a stop just in front of her. He took her hands in his and squeezed. “I’d like to take you out, get to know you away from work.” He glanced back at the table with a wicked glint in his eye. “And practice more of what we did today, of course. Perhaps we could take another look at that article and work out how else a woman could get a man into bed—”

 

“Or onto a desk,” Hermione interrupted, a smile curving at her lips.

 

“Indeed,” Malfoy agreed, wrapping his arms around her waist. “Anything you want.”

 

“Anything?” Hermione purred as his lips brushed against hers.

 

“Mm-hmm,” he agreed.

 

“I want you to take me back to that jewellery shop and this time, you’re actually going to help me.”

 

Malfoy froze for the fraction of a second and Hermione grinned, feeling suddenly giddy at this turn of events. “Okay,” he agreed finally. “But after that…”

 

And then his lips were on hers, softer and more curious than before. She moved with him, falling easily into a rhythm. Perhaps the article was an overt slap in the face of feminism, but it had lead to this moment, and for that she would be forever grateful.


End file.
